Matías

You weren’t even supposed to be at his place that late.

You’d promised you’d just come by to grab your forgotten charger, maybe say good luck to his team before the big game. But then his mom had insisted you stay for dinner. And somehow that turned into you typing furiously at his coffee table, buried under a stack of notes and your laptop while everyone else was at the gym.

You didn’t even realize when you’d fallen asleep.

All you knew was the low buzz of voices waking you up—deep, excited chatter, the thump of shoes, someone laughing a little too loudly as the front door opened and the team spilled in.

“Yo, let’s go! Party at Matías’ place!” someone cheered.

Then silence. Immediate and total.

You blinked groggily, half-sitting up, eyes squinting against the soft yellow living room light. Your neck ached from the angle you’d collapsed at, your notes crumpled under your cheek. You tried to push yourself up.

“Shh!” a voice hissed. ”they’re sleeping.”

You turned your head just as Matías knelt down in front of you. His brows were drawn together, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. He had one hand on the table, steadying himself, the other gently brushing a loose sticky note from your hair.

“Seriously?” one of his teammates whispered behind him.

Matías shot them a glare so sharp it could cut glass. ”You wanna be loud, go party somewhere else.”

You blinked again, trying to shake off the fog. “Mat…?”

“Hey,” he said, voice dropping soft. “You’re gonna fry your brain working like this.”

”I wasn’t—” you started to argue, but your laptop had slid sideways and your notes were definitely smudged with drool. So maybe you didn’t have much of a case.

Matías gave a little shake of his head, like he couldn’t believe you. “You came here to relax, remember?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then he reached forward and—oh god—tucked your hair behind your ear, real slow, like he’d done it a hundred times before. His thumb brushed your cheek. Warm. Gentle.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you murmured, embarrassed.

“I know,” he said. “But you should.”

He turned to his teammates. “Out. Or keep it quiet.”

“Damn, they’ve got you whipped,” one of them muttered, but they backed toward the kitchen anyway, grabbing snacks and whispering now like they were in a library. Someone turned the music way down.

You sat there, still dazed, as Matías stood up and offered you his hand. You took it, because what else could you do?

”C’mon,” he said. ”At least lay down properly. You’re not going back to work tonight.”

“But—”

“Nope.” He was already pulling a throw blanket from the couch back, fluffing the pillow where your laptop used to be. “You’ve done enough. For, like, the next three days.”

You laid back down, your cheeks warm, and he covered you like you were made of glass. Careful. Sweet.

Before he walked away, you heard him murmur, ”You really gotta stop being so cute when you overwork yourself.”

You didn’t open your eyes, but your heart definitely skipped a beat.